


Line of Dance

by QuillFeathers



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 3/4 fluff, Dancing, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, POV Outsider, dancer!felix, temporary character death (very brief & in no detail)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillFeathers/pseuds/QuillFeathers
Summary: “While Felix goes through his routine Dimitri slowly spins to face him anyway, leaning forward to rest an elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, ever so careful to not lift his gaze. There is no way Felix doesn't notice this, but he does not stop his work nor comment.And so Byleth watches Dimitri, who watches Felix's feet.One step. Two.Whatever is between Dimitri and Felix must be complicated. They're constantly dancing around but not with each other. When Byleth finally puts a name to it, though, she may or may not encourage them into tandem steps.(collab w/@IzumiNoBowserfor Project Sworn: Community Project)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81
Collections: Project Sworn





	Line of Dance

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the [Sworn Community Project](https://projectsworn.com/wp/community/), with art from [@IzumiNoBowser](https://twitter.com/IzumiNoBowser?s=20). This was a ton of fun to be a part of!
> 
> “Line of dance” can refer to dancer(s) direction of movement in relation to the space they are using or in relation to other dancers within the space. Dancers follow these invisible lines to make use of the whole floor as well as to avoid collisions. Of course, in this case my agenda is Inevitable Collision.

When it comes time for her to select the Blue Lions representative for the White Heron Cup Byleth does have an idea of who would be the most successful, but that doesn't stop her from approaching her students about it for further insight. She spends an entire afternoon asking each and every one of them how they feel about participating, looking for any flat-out yeses or noes. When that is done, she is even more confident in her gut choice (it would be his own fault if he hated the idea, for not blatantly refusing), so she retraces her steps to Dimitri again, finding him and Ingrid outside the classroom.

“I think it should be Felix,” she greets, noting the immediate drop of Dimitri’s shoulders in relief. She's quite confident in them all, really, but Dimitri deals with being in the spotlight enough and she does not want to put any additional pressure on him. He'd been looking exhausted enough lately.

“He was certainly the best out of the four of us when we were younger,” Ingrid nods in approval, “and he'll put his all into it.”

Dimitri also nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “I clearly remember him telling me how he was much better than myself, at least.”

Byleth stays silent, expecting an elaboration on this newest snippet from their past. She was always willing to listen to their childhood stories; they were pieces of what made them their current selves, after all, and had helped her understand her students on more than one occasion.

For example, Ingrid's current smile is much less contaminated than Dimitri's. “I remember you stepping on his feet multiple times during one song on Sylvain's birthday.”

The prince's hand raises to the back of his head, suspiciously sheepish. “I think I helped him form an excuse for the rest of that night, sore feet and all.”

A few minutes later when Dimitri spots Dedue and excuses himself Ingrid lets out the long sigh that Byleth has come to recognize as her worrying over the rest of the quartet, her own smile faded and eyes sad.

“That was one of the last times I remember them smiling at each other.”

\--------

A few weeks later Byleth is sitting on the steps of the training grounds beside Dimitri, each of them cleaning their weapons, when Felix arrives early for his final practice before the competition the next day.

His signature scowl appears as soon as he sees who is beside her, “Go away boar,” snapped out as he walks past, leaning his sword against a pillar and crossing his arms. “I don't need your approval on my dancing.”

This is how many of their encounters pan out, at least in her presence. Dimitri doesn't even always have to reach out for conversation prior to Felix igniting into fight mode, shoving him away in every form of the word while the prince gently backs away as if from a wild animal (there's irony there, considering what Felix calls Dimitri, and perhaps she should point that out).

Beside her Dimitri chuckles, the noise ringing hollow, but he merely turns so that he's facing away from the center of the ring, refusing to completely excuse himself. This is decidedly un-Dimitri-ish, but Remire Village has clearly had a negative impact on him.

Felix meanwhile ignores Byleth's level look of disapproval in favor of stretching.

Byleth figures that she is pretty observant. As a mercenary her father taught her how to read between the lines. How to sniff out a lie within a job description or a falsified offering of teamwork. She's heard stories of how close Dimitri and Felix were as children—of adoration and hints of childhood crushes—and in the present Felix tells her of the prince's concealed darkness and of the disgust he feels at looking at the 'current' him, yet the tone of voice he uses when not speaking directly to but _about_ him is never exactly purely angry.

No, the hostility Felix bleeds is not fake at all, but neither is it true hatred.

Byleth struggles to put a word to it (to _them_ ), because there are moments like this:

While Felix goes through his routine Dimitri slowly spins to face him anyway, leaning forward to rest an elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, ever so careful to not lift his gaze. There is no way Felix doesn't notice this, but he does not stop his work nor comment.

And so Byleth watches Dimitri, who watches Felix's feet.

One step. Two.

“He will surely win without any issue,” Dimitri comments, tapping out the rhythm Felix dances to against his own pulse point.

\--------

Five years later Felix watches Dimitri.

There's even less words between them (although Dimitri has less words for everyone), but the hostility Felix bears is now tinged with desperation. Byleth sees this in the way he exhausts himself with staying in the cathedral late into the night and with the tone of the choice words he does exchange with their lost leader.

Felix and Byleth are similar in that they seem to fear their companions' deaths more than their own.

Gronder Field is mayhem.

Byleth feels stretched thin in four different directions, having to rely on her former students' abilities as she forges ahead with their front line in order to keep pace with Dimitri's battle lust. She has no idea if the distant yellow banners they had seen earlier—before the field and center hill had been razed to smoke and flame—had closed in on their flank, or if any of the old Golden Deer students were among the dead. She can't let herself think about them while she leaves Dedue's battalion to finish off a demonic beast, while Felix breaks off from her side to handle a company of archers stationed behind one of the few Empire barricades still standing, while she loses sight of Dimitri for yet another critical minute as he charges further ahead.

Pulling her sword from a crumpled body Byleth turns at an increase in activity up ahead, catching sight of a hazy warp of black magic (Hubert?) erupting near the ground just as a female voice splits the air; “ _Dimitri!_ ” (Ingrid?) screamed somewhere over her head, the gust of pegasus wings so dangerously low that it practically knocks her off balance, two more blasts (fire this time) erupting in almost the same spot a heartbeat later.

Dimitri is not particularly skilled against magic, he _knows_ this, but he's making too many mistakes that he never would have five years ago.

Byleth cuts a bloody path forward while Ingrid's battalion pushes back the enemy line, her chest tightening every step. She gets close enough to make out the shadow of Ingrid's stationary mount within the smoke, its wings held unfurled in agitation and Ingrid kneeling at its other side, but is forced to throw herself sideways when a pair of riderless horses bearing Empire colors come barreling past.

When she straightens Felix is frozen a few paces away, having caught up level with her progress—and maybe it is because she has gotten better at defining emotions, or maybe because her father had died five and a half years ago but for her it has been barely the blink of an eye—but the look on his face is all she needs to see. She does not need to turn back around.

Felix stumbles. Walks.

One step. Two.

Byleth closes her eyes, fearing (perhaps irrationally) that she cannot stop this just as she could not stop her father's death.

Time warps. Snaps back.

Byleth goes after the archers herself. Yells at Felix to find Dimitri because he is faster and has his dancer skill. Takes an arrow to the shoulder because she is distracted. But that does not matter.

This time, she saves a loved one.

\--------

Things get better.

Morale naturally flares to new heights when Dimitri's state of mind improves, aided by more victories and then more supplies as well as troops from the Alliance, and suddenly things look (she dares to think) promising.

Byleth notices some other changes, too. Like how Sylvain doesn't look at other women at all when Ingrid is around, and how Dedue is twice as expressive when speaking with Ashe. Dimitri and Felix spend more time together, too, but they also really only _look_ at each other when the other is walking away or preoccupied with something else.

Habits generally go unnoticed by the person who forms them until someone else points them out.

“I think,” Byleth comments nonchalantly one day as she and Felix circle each other in the training grounds, “that you do not just train hard to be the strongest and the best.”

“Oh?” voice dripping of disinterest, he steps into her space to parry her next slash.

“You, Felix,” she pushes his sword back and down until he drops it away completely to counter with a swing at her side, slicing air as she sidesteps to catch it, “are a protector. I think in a way you always have been.”

Felix pushes her back in turn with a block that he puts his whole weight behind. “It's not my fault that the soon-to-be king is so terrible at covering his blind side.”

“Who says I was referring to Dimitri?” Byleth wonders behind a vicious uppercut.

(of course she was referring to Dimitri)

The swing is halted only by Felix smacking his off-hand to the flat of his own blade, which Byleth mimics so that they are left standing in a gridlock.

“I—” the swordsman starts, but he grits his teeth instead of finishing the sentence, eyes flickering up at something over her shoulder.

Byleth sweeps a leg out and trips him as she steps forward, sword-point at his chest.

“Apologies for interrupting,” Dimitri says from behind her. “Professor, Seteth said you were to meet him after I had?”

“I did not think you'd be done so soon.” Turning to the side she brushes hair from her face to buy a moment and distract from the maybe-cunning smile that threatens her features. “Do you want to take my place here?”

It's impossible to tell if the flush on Felix's face is from anything but exertion, but he is doing a very good job at attempting murder with his eyes from his spot on the ground. “Still fighting like a mercenary I see.”

Byleth does her best not to smirk guiltily. Their king looks between them a bit uncertainly, blue eye lingering on Felix, and the latter doesn't clarify outright, but he does extend a hand upwards as Byleth steps away.

Dimitri takes it.

\--------

She does not know a lot about dancing, but Byleth had seen many styles involving various levels of complexity during her travels with Jeralt’s Mercenaries. As she watches Felix stomp away down the hall she recalls something an elderly woman once told her in regards to what made two people adequate dance partners: familiarity (long established in Felix and Dimitri's case), the agreement to work together (mostly solidified when they'd won the war and Felix had accepted the Duke title), and practice.

They were still working on the last item.

She's in Fhirdiad for work as well as for Dimitri's coronation in three days' time, the rest of the former Blue Lions were arriving the next day, and one did not have to be observant at all to know that Dimitri and his adviser were quarreling over something. Byleth is about done with the delay in paperwork because the rest of her week was supposed to be enjoyable, thank you, so she has just invited Felix to tea, which he had only accepted after she had agreed to spar with him the next two consecutive afternoons.

Byleth had not specified that he would _not_ be taking tea with _her_.

Not ten minutes later she is nodding to Dedue, who is stationed outside the receiving room of her guest suite. Dimitri is waiting for her inside, and judging by the perplexed look on his face from where he stood regarding the setting for four that had been placed on the table he had just arrived.

“Professor?”

“Byleth. And please sit,” corrected as she comes over, lifting the top off the pot to check the status of the brew. “What happened between you and Felix?”

Dimitri's brow shoots up possibly farther than she has ever seen it, and if he was not suspicious already he must be now because he immediately leans back in the chair upon sitting, crossing his legs as well as his arms. “Nothing to bother you with. Not policy. We will negotiate as we always do. He has been very...argumentative.”

Byleth pauses mid-tipping of the pot, giving him a pointed look. “When is Felix not argumentative?” tossed out before she spares him eye contact while she starts to pour. “I am sure he is just worried about you. As he always is.”

Clothes rustle as the blond shifts under the overtone of the words. She would almost certainly find color on his cheeks if she looked up, but right on cue an impatient set of knocks rattles the door, which causes Dimitri's hands to clench onto each other where they sit resting in his lap.

Goddess, Sylvain was going to have a field day at their expense when he arrived.

“Come in!” Byleth calls, pouring a second cup.

It must be due to his attention immediately narrowing to Dimitri that has Felix striding (less stomping at least) almost to the table without a word before he notices that Byleth is topping off the fourth cup, and while the other politely did not question her motives he of course does not hesitate.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Afraid so,” and Byleth supposes that maybe she is actually acting as the most impatient one in the room, which is rather amusing. “I was just about to leave.”

“As am I,” gritted back, though he's still looking at Dimitri when he spins away on his heel.

Inevitably there is the sound of wood scraping against the floor followed by a hand reaching out to grab at a retreating sleeve. “Please, Felix. We need to talk.”

This is inevitably answered with an overly-dramatic sigh tipped up towards the ceiling accompanied by zero effort to pull away.

Byleth takes two of the four cups and gives them both her best “well done” smile, kicking the door shut behind her with a satisfying thud.

Dedue tries not to smile as she offers him tea.

\--------

Everyone knew that Felix kept a fairly strict schedule when it came to his training, and after the White Heron Cup he had worked dancing into it as well. Byleth was surely not the only one to have somewhat memorized what time of day or evening he was likely to be swinging a sword around, but she is surprised to find Sylvain lingering outside the main archway of the castle's immense courtyard that served for training and drills.

“Are we all still so hopeless on sleeping?” Byleth asks, because it is rather late for anyone else to be training. The Blue Lions had all been up much too, well, early into the morning upon their reunion, and with the coronation and feast the next evening everyone should have been trying to catch up on sleep.

Sylvain gestures behind himself with a tilt of his head, grinning and throwing up both hands in innocence, “I swear I just got here,” uncharacteristically whispered. “But, Professor, if you want to take bets on whether or not His Majesty asks Felix to dance tomorrow...”

She foregoes answering to step forward and peer around him, Sylvain gladly giving her space. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark with the courtyard open to the sky, but sure enough starlight and the moon illuminates a pair of dancers.

As she watches Dimitri turns his partner out into a spin, the music of his laughter breaking off when Felix returns to step in much too close for a proper hold; resting his head against his chest, entangled hands dropping relaxed at their side. Their feet don't stop despite the change, moving together across the expanse of grass.

One step. Two.

Byleth can't help but match Sylvain's grin, recalling something else the elderly woman had said about pair dancing:

You could always pick out the ones that were in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Byleth: Is plotting to stick the king and his adviser in a room together to make them discuss their feelings under the guise of tea _not_ appropriate?  
> Dedue:  
> Byleth: Listen. I should not be the one best able to deal with my emotions.  
> Dedue: *sips tea*
> 
> twitter: [@o3QuillFeathers](https://twitter.com/o3QuillFeathers)


End file.
